


Six Truths and a Lie

by cruellae (tinkabelladk)



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ghost Stories, M/M, Shinra parades, general Shinra shadiness, so much Sephiroth, unethical experimental practices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2020-12-31 14:15:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21147083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkabelladk/pseuds/cruellae
Summary: A love story in seven fragments, one for each day of Sephiroth Week.I. InnocenceII. WishIII. FateIV. Haunted (free day)V. ShapeshifterVI. DarknessVII. Remake





	1. Innocence

**Day 1: Innocence**

At five years old, Sephiroth developed the habit of sneaking into Hojo’s bedroom and curling up at the foot of his bed like a skinny silver haired cat. This was made even more impressive by the fact that Sephiroth lived in the lab, cut off from the rest of the world by a sheet of bulletproof plexiglass, and Hojo lived several floors below in one of the residential parts of Shinra Tower. 

Physically and mentally, Sephiroth’s development continued to be remarkably advanced. However, his size was generally consistent with his actual age, which made his abilities all the more astounding to those who didn’t know him. 

Emotionally he was more mature as well, but he still had quite a bit of growing up to do if he felt the need to sneak into his guardian’s room at night so as not to be alone. 

The situation was far from ideal--Hojo would have preferred Sephiroth have living space separate from the lab so as to preserve the sanctity of the experimental process. But President Shinra, the other scientists, and even Gast were insisting that anyone dealing with Sephiroth take “certain safety precautions.” His fledgling abilities were making them uneasy, as they began to realize the great potential Hojo had known all along was hidden within.

“Wake up, Sephiroth,” Hojo said. He did this while standing a few feet back from the child curled into a lonely little ball at the very edge of the bed, because there was still a crack in the plaster behind him from the last time he’d put a hand on Sephiroth’s shoulder to wake him. 

While stable during the day, the child often had nightmares--a perhaps unavoidable side effect of the lack of nurturing he’d received. Caring for Sephiroth’s psyche and providing a parent to form a secure attachment with--those were Lucrecia’s areas of responsibility. Hojo always knew that he was ill-equipped for fatherhood and never would have suggested taking this path except that he had thought Lucrecia’s strengths would make up for his own shortcomings. 

But in the end, she had abandoned them both. 

Sephiroth blinked at Hojo, his unnatural eyes glowing a verdant green.

“Good morning,” Hojo said.

Sephiroth drew his knees to his chest and watched Hojo. It never took long for him to fully awaken, and now he looked alert and wary. “One of the techs is dead,” he said. 

Hojo picked his glasses up off the nightstand and put them on, pushing them up his nose. “How do you know that, Sephiroth?” 

Sephiroth met his eyes. No trace of shame or remorse, just a cold, steady gaze. “Because I killed him.” 

“I see.” Hojo took a deep breath. The answer to the next question was very, very important, and if Sephiroth answered wrong...it could be the end of their stay at Shinra Tower. He considered the possibility of having to take Sephiroth and run, if President Shinra deemed it too dangerous to let the experiment continue. “Why did you kill him?” 

Sephiroth pointed at the dresser. Several of Hojo’s notebooks--the most important ones, the ones he wrote in code and hid away under lock and key in his laboratory--were sitting atop the polished wood. 

“He tried to steal those,” Sephiroth said. “He wouldn’t give them back, so we fought a little bit. It wasn’t very hard. I didn’t _ break _anything.” 

Hojo hesitated for a moment. It was six-thirty in the morning, and while he was habitually an early riser, this was still quite a bit to take in first thing. 

“Are you angry?” Sephiroth asked, hugging his knees tighter to his chest. 

_ How could anyone be afraid of this child? _ Gast, President Shinra, and all the others calling for caution were fools. Was mako to be feared because of the raw power it contained? Should they all cower away from materia and the potential it had for destruction and death?

Utter nonsense. 

“What do you say we go down to the cafeteria and get breakfast?” Hojo asked. 

Sephiroth sat up straighter, his posture betraying his eagerness. “I thought I’m not allowed to leave the lab.” 

“Well, that is obviously not an enforceable rule,” Hojo said, waving his hand to indicate their current situation. “So why bother, hmm?”

Sephiroth gave him the slightest hint of a smile. Together, they made their way through the cold hallways of Shinra Tower to the cafeteria where the scientists and office workers usually ate. He watched Sephiroth devour enough pancakes for three people--both the mako treatments and the rapid developmental changes brought on by Jenova’s DNA burned an alarming amount of calories in a young boy. 

Hojo sipped his coffee and watched the way Sephiroth’s eyes scanned the cafeteria, like a predator assessing the weaknesses of his prey. 

_ We’ve done alright, the two of us, _ he thought. _ Maybe we never needed Lucrecia to begin with. _

He picked up one of several knives on his tray and handed it to Sephiroth. The boy glanced at it dubiously, testing the balance. 

“Can you get President Shinra between the eyes?” Hojo asked, gesturing to a poster on the other side of the cafeteria. 

Sephiroth smiled. He always liked challenges, particularly when they involved some element of destruction. 

He’d sunk three knives into various targets, and a good portion of the people in the cafeteria had coincidentally found reason to be elsewhere when Hojo’s phone started ringing. A janitor had found the body in the lab. 

“Gast is going to be sad that I hurt someone,” Sephiroth said morosely, when Hojo hung up the phone. “He told me I should try never to do that.” 

Hojo made a mental note to have a word with Gast later about undermining his experiment. “There is no reason for you to care, Sephiroth,” he said. “Not about Gast, not about anyone. They might be angry at you, and they will certainly be afraid. But that is only because you are special in a way that they will never be. They are not important the way you are.” 

Sephiroth nodded, picking up another of the knives. “There’s President Shinra for real,” he said. “Should I try it again?” 

Hojo laughed, putting his hand over Sephiroth’s. “When the time is right, my boy. When the time is right.” 


	2. Wish

**Day 2: Wish**

The tinny sound of Shinra parade music came through the TV in Cloud Strife’s living room. He watched the troopers march together, flawlessly synchronized as though they were one unit, anonymous and indistinguishable in their uniforms. 

_ It won’t be me under one of those stupid helmets,  _ Cloud thought.  _ Someday I’ll be a SOLDIER, and everyone will know who I am. _

He was sitting on the floor in front of their old TV, the antennas at an uneven angle that, if disturbed even a little bit, would lose the reception. He was tempted to run a few doors down and ask Tifa if he could watch on her TV, which was much larger and nicer. But she always made fun of his “crush” on Sephiroth. Which was stupid. It wasn’t a crush. It was admiration and respect, and that was it. 

She didn’t know  _ anything _ . 

“Don’t sit so close to the TV, chocobo,” Ma called from the kitchen. “You’ll ruin your eyesight.” 

“Shh, Ma,” Cloud called back. “It’s starting!” But he obediently scooted a few feet back, until his back was against the couch. 

President Shinra took the mic first and gave a speech full of exaggerated gestures and fist pumping. Cloud didn’t pay much attention. He was waiting for Sephiroth. 

Ma joined him halfway through the speech, sitting on the couch and leaning forward to ruffle his hair. 

“Only Shinra would throw a parade to announce that they are going to war,” she said. She sounded upset. 

“Don’t worry,” Cloud said, his eyes glued to the TV. “Sephiroth will win it.” 

“I know. But Cloud, every war has a very high price. For both sides.” 

Cloud didn’t really pay much attention to what she was saying, because President Shinra finally stopped talking, and the camera panned back to show Sephiroth walking to the stage. 

He was taller than anyone else, his long hair blowing in the slight breeze, his black coat flaring behind him as he walked. 

“Don’t you think it’s odd he never wears a shirt,” Ma said, clucking her tongue. “He must be cold.” 

“Ma!” Cloud flushed slightly. He liked being able to see a little of Sephiroth’s skin, to guess at the strength of the muscles beneath. 

“Thank you for coming,” Sephiroth said to the crowd. The camera panned back to show the throng of people crowding Junon’s streets. “Today is very important.” 

The camera zoomed in until Cloud could see the details of Sephiroth’s strange eyes, the glow of mako in their depths. 

“Shinra’s strength is unmatched by any other on the planet,” Sephiroth said. Unlike President Shinra, he didn’t sound like he was bragging. He said it in his steady, level voice just like it was a fact that no one could doubt. “I am confident in the abilities of my men, my fellow SOLDIERs, and the technology that Shinra has developed.” 

“He’s so...cold,” Ma said, softly. “Like he doesn’t care about anything.” 

“Ma,” Cloud whined. 

“Sorry, chocobo,” Ma murmured, ruffling his hair again. “I’ll be quiet.” 

Ma just didn’t get it, Cloud thought, as he watched the rest of the speech. Sephiroth would care--of course he would. If Cloud was one of his SOLDIERs, he would care a lot. Maybe they would even be friends. On the battlefield, he would look out for Cloud, and Cloud would look out for him too. 

Cloud wasn’t much for taking orders, but he would take orders from Sephiroth and not complain if he were a SOLDIER. 

“Have no fear,” Sephiroth said, looking directly into the camera, and for a moment Cloud felt like their eyes met--but it was just his imagination, of course. “I promise you, we will emerge victorious.” 

The crowd erupted into wild cheering as Sephiroth left the stage. Cloud felt like cheering himself, a strange, wild exhilaration in his heart. 

#

“To war,” Genesis said, raising his glass of wine in a toast. They were sitting on top of the actual Junon cannon, which felt a little odd after spending so many afternoons in the VR room tearing it apart. Night had fallen, and a cool sea breeze ruffled Sephiroth’s hair. 

Angeal raised his beer in response, but his misgivings showed on his face. Sephiroth had noted them, but was not concerned. Angeal was honor-bound to follow orders, and would never disobey. His personal feelings wouldn’t enter into it. 

“To victory,” Sephiroth said, echoing Genesis’s gesture with his own glass. 

“You’re pretty sure of yourself,” Genesis said, smirking. “Some might even say cocky.” 

Sephiroth arched an eyebrow. “Do you think I’m wrong?” 

“I think someday you will discover that you’re not invincible,” Genesis said, with a sly smile on his full lips. 

“Can we not start this tonight, Gen?” Angeal snapped, his voice lacking the gentle patience he usually had for Genesis. 

Anger and hurt flashed in Genesis’s eyes. Sephiroth didn’t really understand their dynamic--it was subtle and complicated and he wasn’t skilled at interpersonal relationships at the best of times--but he knew that Angeal was the only person who could get through to Genesis in any meaningful way. 

He also knew that the wrong words from Angeal could send Genesis storming off dramatically, which was exactly what happened. 

Angeal sighed, tipping his bottle of beer back for a long drink. 

“He’ll get over it,” Sephiroth said. 

“Oh, I know.” Angeal set the bottle down on the surface of the cannon with a soft clink and ran a hand through his hair. “The two of you just don’t get it. Thousands of people are going to die in this war. It may be necessary, but it’s not something to celebrate.” 

“I’m not celebrating,” Sephiroth said mildly. He had no illusions about what the body count might be. 

“Isn’t this your dream?” Angeal asked. “General of the Armies, about to lead your forces into a war you’ll probably win?” 

Sephiroth took a moment to consider it, a little puzzled. “I don’t understand. What do you mean by dream?” 

“I mean...a dream is what inspires you. What pushes you to be stronger and faster. It’s the reason you get out of bed in the mornings.” 

Sephiroth had never considered anything like this before. “I get out of bed in the mornings because I have things to do.” 

Angeal leaned back, looking up at the sky. “Do you see that?” he asked, pointing up. “That’s the first star of the night. If you make a wish on that star, it will come true.” 

“Superstitious nonsense,” Sephiroth said. 

“Sure.” Angeal didn’t seem offended. “But if it were true...what would you wish for?” 

Sephiroth looked up at the bright point of light, considering. It would be silly to wish for victory in Wutai when his own abilities were sufficient to bring that about. It would be equally foolish to waste a wish on the desire to be stronger and faster--he could accomplish that without assistance as well. 

He thought about it for a very long time, and Angeal waited patiently. And when he finally knew what it was, he might not have said anything at all, if not for the kindness in Angeal’s gaze. 

“I would wish to meet my mother,” he said. 

#

“Star light, star bright,” Tifa said, her head leaned back to peer up at the sky. “First star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.” 

Cloud gave her a cautious smile, sitting beside her on the old wooden water tower, Nibelheim laid out before them and the sky above full of stars. She was really pretty like this, her long hair loose and falling like a curtain of dark silk, the pale curve of her throat exposed. 

“I wish…” She thought for a moment, brow scrunched in concentration. “I wish that my chocobo’s leg would get better.” 

Cloud nodded firmly in agreement. That was a good wish. Tifa’s chocobo had broken his leg carrying her through the snow, and injuries like that could go either way for chocobos. They were waiting to see. 

“What about you?” she asked, bumping his shoulder slightly. “You have to tell the truth, or it won’t come true.” 

Cloud looked up at the sky. His heart was so full of wishes and wants that it felt too big for his chest the same way his dreams were too big for this dusty little town. But he knew which of them was burning in his chest tonight. 

“It’s stupid,” he said, turning his face away from her. “I can’t tell you.”

“Come on,” she said, gently. She put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I promise not to laugh.” 

Cloud glanced at her, wondering. Sometimes she made fun of him, but other times she seemed to understand that he was trusting her with something fragile and easily broken, and held herself back. 

“You better not laugh,” he said.

“I won’t.” 

“Sephiroth’s a hero,” Cloud said. “But I don’t think there’s probably anybody who helps him when he’s in trouble. I wish that...I could help him. If he needed it.”

“Cloud…” Tifa’s voice was soft, and she rested her head on his shoulder. “That’s really sweet. I bet you’re the only person who has ever thought about it like that.” 

Cloud leaned back slightly and looked up at the stars. He thought about his wish as hard as he could, squinting into the night sky, and it felt like for just a fraction of a second, the brightest one twinkled back at him. 

But it was probably just his imagination. 


	3. Fate

**Day 3: Fate  
**

_ You cannot cheat fate so easily, Sephiroth.  _

He was surrounded by nothing but the vast green of the lifestream, all life and light and breathtaking splendor, rushing past him like a river. But it never touched him. It parted as though he was on an island, the current weaving around him to rejoin itself on the other side of the obstacle. 

He felt a vast and aching sorrow that it should be so. 

_ You cannot join with the lifestream. The threads of your fate are not yet spent.  _

The speaker was familiar, hauntingly so. It took him a moment to place it--the melodic voice he always heard on the other end of the line when Gast would answer the phone while working in the lab. Gast would say her name, softly, a small private smile on his face. 

_ You are not one of mine; you are not of my people. I cannot give you succor or repose. You belong to this Planet’s Champion. As long as he exists, you cannot cease to. _

The lifestream began to fade away, and Sephiroth’s feet found solid ground beneath them as the haze of green faded and the landscape around him began to come into focus.

Sephiroth fell to his hands and knees, the awareness of body-self-space returning all in a rush. After a few long moments, the world stopped spinning and he staggered to his feet. 

He was surrounded by dead Shinra soldiers. Dozens of them, all slain with a sword, their bodies littering the ground. 

“Did I…?” He looked at his own hands, checking for blood and finding none. Besides, the swordwork wasn’t artful enough to be his own--the fighter relied more on brute strength than agility and finesse. 

Sephiroth followed the trail of bodies to the edge of the battlefield, then stood perfectly still for a long moment, holding his breath as the memories rushed back to him. 

_ Jenova and her siren song. Zack Fair, wielding Angeal’s sword. Cloud Strife in his infantry uniform, impaled on the Masamune.  _

He remembered dying, how easy it was to do. Like letting something slip out of his hands and float away. 

He had died on the floor of a mako reactor in Nibelheim, and yet here he was. Midgar loomed in the distance like a polluted shadow, and on the ground before him Zack Fair--several years older than Sephiroth’s memory--was lying very still. 

There was an odd furrow in the dirt, leading towards Midgar. Because he had nothing else to do, Sephiroth followed it. 

It didn’t take long before he came across Cloud Strife. He was a man now, wearing a SOLDIER’s uniform, but clearly recognizable as the boy who had killed a legend. He had passed out on the dry, cracked dirt, one hand still clenched around the hilt of the Buster Sword. His face was streaked with tears and blood, but other than exhaustion, he seemed to be unharmed. 

Summoning the Masamune was as easy as it had always been, a malevolent thought made material. Sephiroth held the sword at the base of Cloud’s chin. 

Cloud’s eyes fluttered open, looking around wildly for a second before focusing on Sephiroth. They glowed now, a shocking sky blue. 

“Hello, Cloud,” Sephiroth said. 

Sephiroth had expected fear. He had been prepared for Cloud to beg for his life, to cry and plead and grovel. 

But Cloud did none of those things. He simply stared back at Sephiroth, fearless and defiant. And then he moved--not to escape the blade at his throat, but towards it, and Sephiroth had to pull it back to avoid killing him. 

The effort of sitting up on his elbows seemed to overwhelm Cloud, and he fell back in the dirt. “Do it,” he said, his voice raw and hoarse. “Don’t play with me, you coward. Just do it.” 

Sephiroth stared at him. “You’re not afraid.”

Cloud shrugged, his shoulders scraping against the dusty ground. “What do I have to lose? You already took everything from me.”

Sephiroth studied the man on the ground. Cloud Strife, all grown up and in the uniform of a SOLDIER First. 

He would be lying if he’d said that Nibelheim was the first time he’d noticed Cloud. It had been only a few months before that ill-fated trip when one of the Shinra drill sergeants walked into his office to complain about one Cloud Strife. The sergeant tossed Strife’s file onto Sephiroth’s desk and grudgingly asked for advice. Shinra training was meant to break new recruits down so that they could be built up again into obedient troops, working as parts of a whole. 

But Cloud Strife wouldn’t break. 

Sephiroth told the sergeant to be merciless. _ Any spirit can be tamed. You just have to push hard enough.  _

After that, he’d watched a few training sessions, simply out of curiosity. He started noticing Strife--sitting alone in the cafeteria with an aggressive scowl that kept the others at a distance. Practicing his swordwork in his off hours, alone in the large training hall. The rhythmic beat of his fists on a punching bag. 

Twice his application to the SOLDIER program was denied, and Sephiroth thought that might be the blow that broke his defiant spirit. Yet Cloud pressed on. He would not quit, but neither would he yield. 

What started out as idle curiosity quickly became something markedly less appropriate, particularly as Cloud was a subordinate and ten years younger. It was an infatuation Sephiroth would never have acted on, but neither could he ignore it. 

All of those things--fascination, desire, grudging respect--came rushing back to him as he stood with his sword drawn over the man who had killed him. 

_ You are his fate, Sephiroth. And for such a fate, the Planet weeps.  _

Mother would want him to spill Cloud’s blood. He knew this without having to hear her song. He knew she was out there, waiting for him, that she would embrace him with open arms. 

But he also knew her love would come at a price. In Nibelheim, he’d been willing to pay it, to let go of his free will and bend obediently to her commands. 

Now, as he watched Cloud Strife struggle and fail to get to his feet, he wasn’t so sure. 

“Just kill me,” Cloud said. Tears were running down his face. They weren’t an expression of fear or sorrow, but rage. His wiry frame was trembling with it, even as his weak muscles betrayed him. “Or I’m gonna kill you someday.” 

What would the planet be like without Cloud Strife? Cloud was the first person who had ever made Sephiroth feel something  _ real,  _ who had ever made Sephiroth feel truly alive. The emotions Cloud inspired were not comfortable, but they were unlike anything Sephiroth had ever known--and he felt them again now, watching Cloud tremble at his feet. 

“I swear,” Cloud said, gritting his teeth. “I’m gonna fuckin kill you, Sephiroth.” 

Sephiroth let the Masamune dematerialize and knelt beside Cloud. “I look forward to it,” he said, putting one arm under Cloud’s knees and the other under his back, lifting him carefully. 

Cloud, predictably, thrashed and swore and tried to punch Sephiroth in the face, but quickly exhausted himself and slumped in Sephiroth’s arms. 

He started trying to jerk upright again as Sephiroth began walking towards Midgar, hitting his hand against Sephiroth’s chest. “The sword,” he said, frantically. “Zack’s sword. I can’t--”

“I’ll come back for it,” Sephiroth said. “I promise.” 

Cloud closed his eyes, tears glimmering beneath his lashes. This time, it was sorrow, so deep and expansive Sephiroth wasn’t sure how he didn’t drown in it. “Zack’s dead,” he mumbled, his voice shaking. 

“I know,” Sephiroth said. 

Cloud was quiet for a while longer, while Midgar grew steadily closer. “Can you… can you say something?” he asked. “Something about Zack. I just...I didn’t bury him. I couldn’t. I…”

Sephiroth thought for a moment. He’d spoken at several funerals--when SOLDIER Firsts or Seconds died in combat, he would always attend and usually speak at the services. 

“Zack Fair was the bravest SOLDIER I’ve ever known,” Sephiroth said. “Sometimes to the point of foolishness. When he was serving in Wutai…” Sephiroth continued speaking for longer than he’d intended to, long enough that Cloud fell asleep in his arms. 

_ There is no turning back now, Sephiroth. He is the only one who can save you. _

Ifalna’s voice, echoing in his ears. 

_ Trust him, and he’ll show you the way.  _


	4. Haunted (free day)

** Day 4: Haunted (Free Day) **

Sephiroth isn’t sure how long he’s been here, in this humble apartment above a bar in the Midgar slums. Ever since he found Cloud lying in the desert dust, a half mile away from Zack Fair’s dead body, and carried him to the city, time has become oddly elusive, slipping strangely away from him. 

Cloud has reunited with a friend from his childhood, a dark haired young woman who looks past Sephiroth as though he’s not even there. He works as a mercenary now, running with some terrorist group--Sephiroth can’t be bothered to remember the name or the details. 

Sephiroth spends his time training in a field of flowers flourishing mysteriously under the plate. He’s skilled enough that neither his feet nor the Masamune ever harm a single petal. Some days he wanders to Wall Market to listen to the locals talk or hunts pathetic monsters through the roads between sectors, wastelands of sparse dirt and twisted metal. 

He follows Cloud on his missions, helping him to slay the more determined foes, Shinra’s mechanical monstrosities falling before their blades. He likes this best of all, when Cloud’s Buster Sword and his own Masamune move together in a beautiful, razor-edged duet. After missions, he sits with Cloud in a dark corner of the bar, listening to Cloud’s companions talk and laugh amongst themselves. No matter how cheerful the mood, Cloud is always on the outside, looking in. 

Sephiroth knows what that’s like.

He and Cloud have something of a truce--sometimes even conversations. But Cloud is always guarded, distant, even as Sephiroth longs for greater closeness. 

He dreams of Cloud nearly every night, dreams that started brief and simple but have gotten more detailed and more depraved over the time he’s been here. 

Tonight Cloud is on his knees, his hands bound behind his back, looking up at Sephiroth with something akin to worship. And in this dream, Sephiroth knows that no matter what he does to Cloud, no matter how he hurts him, violates him, defiles him, Cloud will look at him with love and beg for more. 

_ This is what you want.  _

That voice is familiar, an unearthly melody that once possessed him entirely, down to his core. He can still feel the hollow places in himself that ache in her absence. 

_ You betrayed me for this pitiful creature. For him you turned your back on all that we are and all that we could be. _

“I’m sorry, Mother,” Sephiroth whispers, feeling the cold burn of her chastisement. 

_ My son my heart my love. I understand what it is to want. But why would you deny your own strength, my scion, my own breathing soul? You could have this and more, if you only would let me show you the way.  _

Sephiroth wakes with a start, his heart racing and his body aching with unspent desire. He’s not alone--the apartment above the bar is small so he shares a room with Cloud, sleeping on the floor beside Cloud’s bed so he can remain nearby. 

“Are you awake?” Cloud asks, in his low, husky voice. There’s a slight western twang to his words, the country boy lost in the big city. 

“Yes.” Sephiroth takes a moment to collect himself. “Did I wake you?” 

“Nah. Been awake for a while. Just thinking.” 

“About what?” Sephiroth sits up so he can see Cloud lying atop the bed, turned on his right side, propped up on his elbow. 

“About you,” Cloud says. “Wondering why you’re here. And why only I can see you.” 

Sephiroth considers this for a long moment, and realizes he can’t think of a single instance where anyone besides Cloud has acknowledged his presence. 

“I carried you here,” he reminds Cloud. Surely that’s proof of his corporeal existence. “I brought you Zack’s sword.”

“Sure. I remember. But I also remember seeing you die.” 

“Because you killed me.” Sephiroth gets up and approaches the bed, feeling very much like a ghost in the darkness. 

“And now you’re haunting me.” Cloud gives him a wry smile, weary at the edges. “Zack died for good, but you get to come back. What the fuck kind of deal is that, anyway?” 

“I don’t understand it any more than you do,” Sephiroth says. “I didn’t ask for this.” 

Cloud rolls onto his back and puts his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. “Let me know when you figure it out, okay?” 

Sephiroth nods, though Cloud isn’t looking at him, and slips away to his corner to wait for the dawn. 

#

Sephiroth is a quiet ghost. Cloud is thankful for that, at least. He’s not always around, but when he is, he’s usually content to sit silently nearby unless Cloud wants to talk. 

Today they’re the only people in 7th Heaven, the CLOSED sign hanging on the door, so Sephiroth has set his sword along the length of the bar--it’s almost as long as the bar itself--and is methodically polishing it from hilt to tip. 

Cloud has a whetstone, and he’s attending to his own weapon. He’s engrossed in the task and doesn’t realize Sephiroth has moved closer until he feels the gentle brush of a hand on his shoulder. 

“Like this,” Sephiroth says, leaning into his space. He puts his hand over Cloud’s and angles the whetstone just so. “You’ll get a better edge.” 

His hand is warm, the bulk of his body firm where he’s leaning against Cloud’s shoulder. For a ghost, he feels very present and very real. And Cloud knows from experience that when Sephiroth fights by his side, that sword is corporeal enough to kill. 

Cloud wonders if he’s going crazy. 

“Use brings about wear, tear, and rust,” Sephiroth tells him. “That’s what Angeal always used to say when he cleaned this sword.”

“Yeah.” Cloud clears his throat. “Zack told me a little about him. While we were...on the run.” 

“It’s good to see this sword get some use.” Sephiroth is still standing very close, and Cloud has to tilt his head up to see his expression. “Angeal never used it. He was too afraid of damaging it. Very much like his famous honor.” 

“What do you mean?” Cloud asks. Zack always talked about Angeal like he was a paragon of virtue. 

“I did worse things in Wutai than in Nibelheim,” Sephiroth says. “Angeal always turned a blind eye. He never tried to use that stalwart honor of his to change things. Just as he never used this blade to fight.” 

“You probably would have killed him if he had,” Cloud says. “Maybe he thought that doing what little he could from the inside was better than dying for no reason.” 

“Hmm.” Sephiroth runs his fingers up the flat side of the Buster Sword. His hands are large but elegant, and Cloud can’t help but imagine that the caress is on his own body rather than his blade. “But you would never compromise like that.” 

“Probably not,” Cloud admits. 

Sephiroth pulls back and returns to his own task at the bar. They each resume their work in comfortable silence. Being haunted is one thing, but it feels kind of good to not always be alone. And Sephiroth understands Cloud in a way no one else ever has before. 

“I never did figure it out,” Sephiroth says, softly breaking the silence. “Why I’m here.” 

“Karma, maybe?” Cloud asks.

Sephiroth raises an eyebrow, looking puzzled. 

“You burned down a whole fucking town,” Cloud says. “Your karma must be shit. So like, maybe this is your punishment.” 

“I doubt it,” Sephiroth says, his eyes on his blade. “There are worse places I could be.”

Cloud shrugs one shoulder nonchalantly. “Maybe it’s my shitty karma.”

He regrets saying anything at all when Sephiroth turns towards him, strange eyes laser-focused on his face. “Why would you think that?” 

“Cause Zack was the best person I know. And he died because of me.” 

Sephiroth is quiet for a moment, leaning against the bar. Not like he’s not paying attention, but more like he’s taking time to really consider what Cloud just said. It’s oddly endearing to see him put in the effort, and it helps with the raw vulnerability threatening to claw its way out of Cloud’s throat. 

“He died protecting you,” Sephiroth says. “Would you have done the same for him?” 

“Yeah,” Cloud says. “Of course. He was my best friend.” 

“If you had died to protect him, would you want him to spend the rest of his life feeling guilty about it?” Sephiroth arches a brow, his gaze pinning Cloud to the spot. 

“I...I guess not,” Cloud says, softly. He’s never thought about it like that before. It doesn’t make everything completely better, but it does make him feel a little lighter. “Thanks.” 

Sephiroth gives him a rare smile, then turns his attention back to the Masamune. 


	5. Shapeshifter

**Day 5: Shapeshifter**

The knock on Cloud’s door is firm but restrained, two single taps and then silence. He’s alone in the Golden Saucer’s Haunted Hotel, the room a garish mishmash of Hallows Eve decor. Most of AVALANCHE is here, celebrating their recent victory in Gongaga. They’re probably all out dancing and getting drunk, but that’s never really been Cloud’s scene. Their anti-Shinra group has been growing, recently adding several strange but powerful fighters, including a Wutai ninja, an immortal and possessed ex-Turk, and a Cetra.

He opens the door carefully, hoping for anyone but Yuffie to be standing on the other side. 

“Hello, Cloud.” Vincent Valentine doesn’t smile at him, just studies him with blood red eyes that seem to glow in the cool light of the hallway. 

Cloud steps aside to let Vincent in. He likes Vincent, trusts him and respects him. Vincent is a kindred spirit, another victim of Hojo’s callous curiosity, another not-entirely-human creature who prefers to keep the rest of their companions at arms length. They don’t talk much, but they understand each other. 

“Hey, Vincent,” he says, with a slight but friendly smile. “What’s up?” 

Vincent stares at him for a moment, his eyes bright and desperate. Then he closes the distance between them with two brisk steps, aggressive and assertive. The movement is graceful, but entirely unlike him. 

The approach is sudden enough that Cloud’s automatic response is to reach for his weapon. But Vincent catches his wrist and holds him still, his grip unyielding even to Cloud’s enhanced strength. 

“What--” Cloud begins.

Vincent kisses him, fiercely enough to take his breath away. If a kiss could be vicious and still hot enough to bring Cloud nearly to his knees, this would be it. They part just long enough for large hands to shove Cloud back against the wall, a firm, slender body pinning him in place. 

“You don’t have to pretend to be someone else,” Cloud says, looking into those luminescent eyes. “I wouldn’t have turned you away.” 

The man who isn’t Vincent takes a half step back, his features shifting like a camera going out of focus and then sharpening again. His hair becomes longer, a shining fall of silver, and his face is sculpted into a familiar imperious elegance. He watches Cloud with a hunger that goes well beyond physical desire. 

“That’s kind of a dirty trick,” Cloud says, his body still singing with the need to be pressed against Sephiroth. 

“I just...wanted to be close to you,” Sephiroth says, turning his face away. “I didn’t mean to take advantage. But then you looked at me like I...” 

“I didn’t say stop,” Cloud says, pulling his shirt over his head. Sephiroth is staring at him, almost comically stunned. “You started it,” Cloud reminds him. “Are you gonna finish it or what?” 

He barely gets the words out before he’s swept off his feet and onto the large hotel bed with its bizarre black and gray spiderweb quilt. Sephiroth is on top of him, kissing him frantically like he’s trying to make the very most of every little second because he can’t trust that there will ever be another. 

“Hey,” Cloud murmurs, turning his head away. “Go easy. It’s my first time.” 

Sephiroth pulls away and blinks at him a few times, but when he leans in again it’s slower, sweet and gentle. Soft kisses along the curve of Cloud’s jaw, warm hands moving over his chest. For a ghost, Sephiroth feels so  _ real _ , his body large and lean and muscled, hard under Cloud’s fingertips. 

“I don’t know if you understand,” Sephiroth murmurs, hot breath against Cloud’s ear, “that every night Jenova offers me things that I want more desperately than I can possibly say. And I don’t know how much longer I can keep saying no.” 

“What does she offer you?” Cloud asks. He’s distracted by Sephiroth’s fingers on the button of his jeans, but also a little worried, because if Sephiroth is good at one thing, it’s destruction. He burned down Nibelheim for Jenova. What else would he do for her, given a reason to? 

Sephiroth’s hand moves into Cloud’s pants, and he watches with heavy lidded eyes as Cloud bucks up against him with the sudden shock of pleasure. 

“This,” Sephiroth says, stripping Cloud’s clothes away with ruthless efficiency. “She offers me this. You.” 

Cloud blinks at him in shock. “Me?” 

Sephiroth pins Cloud to the bed, still dressed in an outfit that looks remarkably like Vincent’s. It’s unexpectedly erotic, and Cloud is going to have a hard time looking at Vincent’s red cape the same way after this. 

“You are my weakness,” Sephiroth hisses, his eyes flashing dangerously. “If it weren’t for you--”

“You would have burned down the rest of the world to match Nibelheim,” Cloud says flatly. “You lost. Get over it.”

“I still could,” Sephiroth growls. “If I find her again, Mother will bring me back, and we will--” 

Cloud yanks on a fistful of silver hair. “Don’t talk about your mom while we’re fucking. That’s creepy.” 

Sephiroth laughs--bright and sudden like birds startled into flight. He pulls away just far enough to look Cloud in the eyes. “I’ve wanted to do this for a very long time,” he says. 

“Wait. How long?”

“Hmm.” Sephiroth’s hands travel down Cloud’s torso, and lower, with light teasing touches that leave him trembling with desire. “I don’t know how long it’s been. Time is very hard to measure now. But I certainly remember watching you eat all alone in the SOLDIER cafeteria and wondering what kind of noises you would make if I fucked you.” 

Cloud blinks at him, very nearly short-circuited by desire, but also in shock. He wants to ask a hundred follow up questions, but Sephiroth’s mouth descends on his cock, hot and wet and better than anything he could have dreamed up. It’s hard to think of anything else, after that. 

#

Sephiroth is lying beside Cloud in the big hotel bed, watching as Cloud’s chest rises and falls, his breathing slowing as they both recover. It was good, being with Cloud, better than anything Sephiroth has ever had. But it’s not enough. 

He thought that if he had Cloud once, it would sate the relentless desire that haunted him even before he became a ghost. And then Mother would have nothing to tempt him with and no power over him. He would finally be free. 

But now that he knows what it’s like to hold Cloud in his arms, what it looks like when Cloud falls apart beneath him, what his name sounds like falling from Cloud’s lips…

He has never been so wrong.

He would do  _ anything  _ to have this again. 

“That was fun,” Cloud says, his eyes still closed. His expression is as close to happy as Sephiroth has ever seen it. “We should do it again sometime.”

“I think you should kill me,” Sephiroth says. 

Cloud’s eyes snap open, and he turns on his side to face Sephiroth. “What?” 

“If we can do this, then you can probably kill me. And you should.” 

“Why?” 

Sephiroth sits up, tilting his head so the fall of his hair creates a curtain between them. “Because tonight Mother is going to tell me that if I bring her what she wants, she’ll give me you. To have, always.” 

Cloud is quiet for a long moment. And then he leans forward and pulls Sephiroth’s hair out of the way. His eyes are the blue of the mountain sky, glowing softly. 

“How about I make a counter offer?” he asks. “You help me kill Jenova, for good, and you get me. For always, no strings attached.” 

He makes the offer easily, with a guileless expression and a slight, self conscious hunch of his shoulders. And Jenova has no chance at all, because in Cloud’s proposal is the one thing Sephiroth has always wanted most--his willing surrender. 

“Mine,” Sephiroth whispers, pushing Cloud back down onto the pillows. “Always.” 

“Yeah.” Cloud smiles up at him, easy and carefree. “When I was a kid I made a wish. And now I guess it’s coming true.” 


	6. Darkness

**Day 6: Darkness**

Mother has made her lair in the very depths of the Northern Crater. The depths of the cavern are cold and filled with a darkness thick as ink, broken only by the eerie light of glowing moss or shards of naturally occurring mako. Cloud and Sephiroth have been descending for two days, fighting strange, twisted monsters at every turn. 

Sephiroth has no need to rest, but even with his extraordinary endurance, Cloud occasionally does. 

They make camp on a flat and relatively dry ledge. Sephiroth can feel that they are drawing close to her, a presence that makes him yearn and recoil in equal measure. He starts a small fire, burning sickly twigs and strange, tough strands of moss he collects from around the cavern. He wants Cloud to be warm. 

“C’mere,” Cloud says, holding out his arms while he’s huddled by the fire. “Body heat.” 

Sephiroth hesitates in the shadows just out of reach. Mother’s proximity, her constant presence in his mind, makes him feel unclean and abhorrent, an abomination that should never be allowed near someone as beautiful and pure as Cloud. 

But Cloud’s expression is hopeful and open in a way it rarely is, so Sephiroth goes to him, sitting behind him on their bedrolls and pulling Cloud into his arms, curling around Cloud like a shell. Like he could protect him from what’s to come. 

“How do you feel?” Cloud asks. 

Frightened--but he would never admit such a thing. Still, he knows that his last encounter with Mother made him completely lose his mind. There is nothing he fears more than another such loss of control. 

“Uneasy,” he says. 

“Yeah. Me too.” 

Sephiroth presses a kiss to Cloud’s ear. He wants to say-- _ I would never allow harm to come to you.  _ But he would never make a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep. If Mother clawed her way into his psyche again…

“What is it like?” Sephiroth asks, feeling the rise and fall of Cloud’s breath against his body. “To have so much light in your heart?” 

Cloud laughs, gently. “What’s it like to have so much darkness?” 

“Hmm.” Sephiroth holds Cloud a little tighter. “It means I can be ruthless, when I need to. But also that I...that I crave the light in you.” He bites, gently, at the side of Cloud’s neck. “It makes me want to devour you.”

“After this is over,” Cloud says, leaning into the embrace, “you can do whatever you want with me. I’m all yours.” 

It’s hard to deny the thrill that runs through Sephiroth at the explicit promise. But it’s tinged with bitterness. Cloud is lingering in Sephiroth’s arms not because he wants Sephiroth’s touch, but because it’s a bargain he made to save the Planet from the combined destructive force of Sephiroth and his Mother. It is the best a monster like Sephiroth could ever hope for--but it’s still not what he wants. 

“What will we do after this is over?” he asks. 

“We take down Shinra,” Cloud answers easily. “AVALANCHE needs us. Both of us.” 

“And after that?” 

“Well, we take the back pay Shinra owes you and we buy a little ranch outside of Kalm. And we raise chocobos.” 

Sephiroth doesn’t know how to answer that. Cloud has handed over his future so easily, sacrificed the rest of his life and his chance at finding someone he could actually love, to Sephiroth’s unfair demands. 

“It sounds nice,” Sephiroth murmurs. “Get some sleep, Cloud. I’ll keep watch.” 

#

_ Cloud should have known.  _ He feels like such an idiot, but the pain lancing white hot through his chest distracts him. That this particular type of agony has become familiar is beyond fucked up. 

He opens his mouth to say-- _ you promised _ \--but only blood spills out. 

His weapon is on the other side of the cavern, and both Sephiroth and Jenova--the latter having taken on a strikingly bizarre and misshapen blue-feathered form--are standing in his way. The gleaming silver length of the Masamune crosses the distance, buried deep in Cloud’s chest by a sure thrust made without a hint of hesitation. 

Sephiroth’s sword withdraws only to pierce him again, and he falls to his knees. “Sephiroth…” 

But Sephiroth isn’t looking at him. He’s looking at Jenova. The hand that holds the Masamune is trembling. 

The blade swings again--a bright, blinding arc. Somehow, it’s not Cloud who is sundered in two. He watches Jenova fall to pieces and blacks out with her dying shriek still in his ears. 

#

When Cloud next wakes, his chest still hurts, but it’s the deep, aching itch of healing. He’s lying on the floor of a small cavern, a snowy landscape stretching outside the entrance. He blinks, hazily returning to the surface. His fingers rub over the warm blanket he’s wrapped in…

Not cloth...supple black leather. Sephiroth’s coat. He’s back on the surface above the Northern Crater, lying on Sephiroth’s long jacket. A fire crackles merrily nearby, and Cloud’s skin is still flushed with the lingering aftereffects of very strong healing magic. 

He pulls himself to a seated position. It’s easier than he thought it would be--his body feels surprisingly intact, despite what he’s been through. 

“Sephiroth?” he says, looking around. The cavern is small, barely more than an indent into the hillside. He gets to his feet and steps out into the snow. 

There is only one set of footprints leading to the little haven, bearing the tread of Sephiroth’s black boots. They are accompanied by red dots in the snow, likely from Cloud’s wounds. Sephiroth must have carried him here and healed him, wrapped him in his coat and started a campfire to keep him warm. 

Cloud looks around wildly, realizing just how alone he is. There are no footsteps leaving this place, just the empty cavern with its small fire and a field of pristine, unmarked snow. 

“He’s gone,” Cloud whispers, and the thought hits him like a punch to the gut. The glint of the Masamune, stabbed into the ground just before the cave, confirms it. Sephiroth would never leave his sword behind if he still lived.

Cloud puts his hand around the hilt of the sword, blinking back the hot prickling behind his eyes. His worst, most hated enemy, his lover and his only real friend, has returned to the lifestream. 

A black feather sits at the base of the sword, likely dropped from one of the large, monstrous birds that circles the snowy fields waiting for mice or voles to venture out of their burrows. Cloud picks it up and runs his thumb along the fine edges. 

In Nibelheim, the old religion says that when people die, they become angels, glorious creatures with beautiful feathered white wings and golden halos. 

Cloud laughs softly, holding the feather gently in his palm. “Of course you’d be an angel of darkness,” he says. 

He considers leaving the Masamune and Sephiroth’s coat up there on the Northern Ridge like a tombstone of sorts. But in the end, he can’t bring himself to part with the sword, as ridiculously impractical as it is for anyone but Sephiroth to wield. 

No one has to know that it’s hidden away in the back of his closet in Midgar. Just like no one has to know that he sometimes sleeps curled up beneath a long black leather coat that no longer smells like anyone at all, dreaming of his dark angel. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more day to go!


	7. Remake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Anyone can love a thing because. That's as easy as putting a penny in your pocket. But to love something despite. To know the flaws and love them too. That is rare and pure and perfect.”'
> 
> -Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man’s Fear

**Day 7: Remake**

Cloud hesitates just inside the doorway to his kitchen, startled and wary. 

There is a gift sitting on his kitchen table. It’s small and rectangular, wrapped in white paper and tied with a black ribbon. 

He wonders how whoever it was got into his house, and why they left the gift instead of giving it in person. He wonders if it’s a trap, and if he should really open it. 

But eventually his curiosity wins out, and he approaches the package. 

As soon as he touches the ribbon he can feel its magical potency. It’s a rare sort of trinket, the type he’s only seen twice before. Enchanted with a protective magic, it will keep him from being poisoned, petrified, or hit with any other nasty status effect. 

He ties it around his wrist in case the box itself is designed to inflict any such thing. Just in case. 

The box is made of simple polished rosewood, and inside…

His breath catches. They’re _ so beautiful. _Three orbs of rare materia, with the shine that tells him they’re completely mastered. 

There’s no note, and nothing at all that might identify the sender. 

He wonders and worries about it--who could it be and what do they want--but that doesn’t stop him from using the materia. 

#

The next gift comes almost a month later, and he pauses in his doorway, taking in the sight of the large sword sitting on his kitchen table. 

He approaches the sword, his mouth slightly open. Even without touching it he can tell it’s the finest he’s ever laid eyes on. When he picks it up, the balance is perfect, like it was made for him. 

He wishes he knew who was behind it and where it came from. It’s a little weird for a sword to just appear in his apartment, but that doesn’t stop him from using it. 

Yuffie calls it the Ultima Weapon. ”Because it’s so ultimate, Cloud!” 

It’s as good a name as any for the best blade he’s ever wielded. 

# 

The third gift is almost certainly a trap. 

It’s a key, sitting on the table, gleaming silver in the light. Beside it is a map leading to somewhere in the hills just beyond Kalm. 

_ Weird. _

But Cloud follows the trail anyway. 

It leads him off the beaten path and down a dirt road towards a corral where a young man is guiding a chocobo through the dust, clucking softly. 

The man hops the fence between them as Cloud slows his bike and looks him up and down appraisingly. “You gotta be Cloud Strife or my name’s not Chocobo Billy,” he says. 

Cloud nods cautiously. “That’s me.” 

“Howdy.” Billy holds out his hand for Cloud to shake. “Welcome home, sir.” 

Cloud stares at him in stunned silence as Billy explains that this ranch is a gift from a mysterious benefactor. “It’s yours, free and clear,” Billy says. “I’m here to help ya out, gettin it started, keepin it runnin.” 

“Uh-huh…” Cloud says. This is going to take a while to process. 

He would think Sephiroth is behind all of this, but Sephiroth is dead, gone for good this time. He has the Masamune to prove it, hidden away in his storage closet for the last year. It’s buried under a lot of junk because he doesn’t like to look at it. It makes him feel a lot of things he’d really rather ignore. 

Billy won’t say one word about who bought the ranch or hired him. Cloud gives up trying. 

He keeps the ranch, though. 

#

AVALANCHE is celebrating. President Shinra is dead, assassinated in his own office, and while Barret is upset that he didn’t get to do it himself, the entire team is in pretty high spirits. 

They all get drunk and Cloud, slightly tipsy, leaves them to it. He wants to be home at his ranch, with his chocobos and the quiet he’s gotten used to. After spending time there, Midgar seems loud and dirty, crammed with people. 

But for tonight, he’ll settle for crashing at his apartment in Sector 6. 

He steps through the door and freezes, staring at the gift that has been left on his table. 

Golden cufflinks, stamped with the Shinra logo and splattered with blood. 

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who they belonged to.

He runs into the next room and yanks open the door to the storage closet, jerking aside the junk piled in there and letting it carelessly fall to the floor. 

It’s gone. The Masamune is gone. 

He stares for a long time into the empty space the sword used to occupy, his fists clenched. 

“You bastard,” he whispers. 

#

Rufus Shinra is never unguarded. Since his father’s untimely death, he has spent every moment--sleeping and waking--accompanied by several SOLDIERs, including at least one First. 

Sephiroth intends to destroy Shinra as thoroughly as he can, but he would prefer not to slay any of his old comrades. Therefore, Rufus’s assassination must be done strategically and thoughtfully. 

He’s perched on the barrel of Junon cannon, watching the festivities below as Rufus gives a bombastic speech to the assembled crowd, accompanied by utterly terrible brass band music. SOLDIERs and Shinra infantry march in formation, while two First Class SOLDIERs stand just behind Rufus, scanning the crowd for threats. Another is flanking the crowd, keeping watch on who comes and goes. 

None of them have spotted Sephiroth, hidden in shadow above them. But they _ could _, if they knew where to look. The encounter with Jenova restored Sephiroth fully, so that Cloud is no longer the only one who can see him.

With his focus on the scene below, the ridiculous music blaring in his ears, he doesn’t notice the man approaching him until it’s almost too late. He whirls, the Masamune flashing in the golden glow of late afternoon as it comes to rest gently against Cloud Strife’s throat. 

Immediately, he lowers his weapon, his eyes lingering on the face he has missed so dearly. Of course he has been watching Cloud from a distance ever since they parted ways, but it’s different to see him up close, and to be seen in return. 

“I figured you’d be following Rufus,” Cloud says. 

“Shinra is a many-headed beast,” Sephiroth says. “I am only one man. It stands to reason that I will take them out one by one.” 

“You should work with us,” Cloud says. “AVALANCHE, I mean. We’d get more done together.” 

Sephiroth nods. “It would be my pleasure.” 

Cloud studies him, brows drawn together in unhappiness. It makes Sephiroth realize he has never apologized for his moment of weakness--a moment which almost meant Cloud’s death. 

“Jenova was…” He hesitates, wondering how he can possibly explain it. “All of my life, I wished to know what I was and where I came from. To have...a mother. She didn’t control my mind, Cloud. She simply offered me her love. I don’t believe that you should forgive me for what I did in Nibelheim or what I did in the Northern Crater. But know that I deeply regret it.” 

“And leaving me?” Cloud asks, his voice oddly rough. “Are you gonna apologize for that?”

Sephiroth studies him, puzzled. He left for Cloud’s sake, and severed the connection between them because he thought it would be what Cloud wanted. Who could possibly want to be tied to the monstrous spawn of Jenova, a man whose heart held so much hate and anger? Cloud had given himself to Sephiroth because he thought it would stop Sephiroth from doing Jenova’s bidding. It had nothing to do with love or his own desires. 

By leaving, Sephiroth released him from that fool’s bargain. He thought Cloud would be relieved, and maybe even grateful. But instead he looks devastated, like he’s been deeply betrayed. Like Sephiroth has the power to wound him. 

“Gods, this is so fuckin stupid,” Cloud says, running a hand through his hair in agitation. “I...I don’t even know what to say. What’s with the gifts, if you don’t give a fuck about me?” 

“Of course I care about you,” Sephiroth says. How could Cloud doubt it? 

“Then why?” Cloud asks. “I...Shiva, I’ve been such a fuckin idiot. Thinking of you all the time. Missing you like nothing else. And you’ve just been avoiding me.” 

The thought that Cloud might have missed him, that Cloud had been desperate for his presence, makes Sephiroth’s heart ache in his chest. 

“I thought you’d be glad to be rid of me,” he explains. “That you’d be happy you didn’t have to keep your promise.” 

Cloud steps closer, watching him with eyes the blue of the sky over the mountains. “I guess it’s a little much to promise to be yours forever when we’re just starting. How about you ask me on a date?” 

Sephiroth isn’t sure how to respond. He feels like his meager capacity for emotion is overflowing with elation and desire and anxiety. It would be so easy to fuck this up. But if he can do it right...there is the promise of so much more. 

“Your next gift was going to be a very useful piece of armor stolen from Shinra’s secret research lab,” Sephiroth says. “I have it on good authority it’s on the crashed remains of the Gelnika, which happens to be full of very dangerous monsters.” 

Cloud gives him a hint of a smile. “Are you asking me to go monster hunting with you?” 

“Will you?” Sephiroth asks, and holds his breath until Cloud answers him with a kiss. 

#

It may only be their second real date--a fancy restaurant in Midgar where Cloud squinted at the menu and complained about the lack of chicken sticks--but Cloud lets Sephiroth come home with him, to the apartment where Sephiroth has been leaving gifts for the past year. The materia he mastered himself, fighting monsters near Mideel. The sword was a greater challenge--he had to slay one of the WEAPONs released when Shinra attempted to tap the lifestream in Northern Crater. The chocobo ranch took some time to arrange, but when he lingered in the trees near the corrals and watched Cloud riding the birds, he knew it was worth it. 

Now, lying on his back beside Cloud and staring up into the darkness, it’s hard not to be stunned by the sheer good fortune he’s been granted. 

“Stay tonight,” Cloud says, curling up against his side. “Please?” 

“Of course,” Sephiroth says, pressing a kiss to Cloud’s forehead. He reaches for the blankets on the floor beside him, which he had thoughtlessly thrown aside somewhere in between passionate kisses. 

His hand catches on supple leather, inky black in the darkness. He sits up to examine it. “This is my coat,” he says, bemused. 

“Yeah.” Cloud clears his throat and looks away sheepishly. “I guess I sometimes slept with it. Just cause. I kinda missed you.” 

Startled by the admission and the depth of Cloud’s feelings, Sephiroth is quiet for a moment, feeling the familiar texture of the leather beneath his fingers. 

_ Is this what it’s like to have someone who loves me? _

It feels good, warm and sweet with an unexpected depth to it. But also frightening, because he’s not sure he knows how to return it. “I’m not good for you, Cloud,” he says. 

Cloud snorts, sitting up and pressing himself against Sephiroth’s back. “You think I don’t know that? I know who you are. I haven’t forgotten anything.”

“Yet you’re still here.” 

“Yeah. Cause I love you.” Cloud tugs Sephiroth back down onto the bed. “C’mon, it’s getting cold.” 

Sephiroth pulls a blanket over them both. Cloud snuggles against him, his breathing evening out and his limbs relaxing into sleep. 

Sephiroth lays awake, holding both hope and fear in his heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...Sephiroth Week is over! That makes me kind of sad...I had so much fun!!


End file.
